I’ve heard a cornucopia of justifications. Reasons from ratiocination to mythical fables, about why today is THE day to celebrate pot day. Makes no difference to me. Marijuana never hurt anybody and hemp fiber and oil is the answer to more of our problems than you know.

I visited a dispensary in a past neighborhood today.

This place was barely two blocks from my old apartment. In Koretown. I got a glimpse inside my old window right before we pulled up in front of a bright green door with green balloons whipping in the hot breeze. I didn’t see much, it was fleeting, but the window was dirty and that gave me pause. It was at least a hundred fucking degrees today.

I was with this guy Fred, who is a friend of Evil Lars and works with the institution now. He’s like six four and handsome. We’re in his pick-up and he has an excellent air conditioner. It was a hundred goddamn degrees today. We’re here to replace a terminal that’s gone down. It’s April twentieth, they sell pot and their machine has shat itself.

I lived here during the riots. Two blocks off Vermont and Third. There was lots of shit on fire. Heavily armed personnel in black and the reek of destruction for months after. It freaked me out. I remember convenience stores and liquor stores looking like they puked into the parking lot after being looted. That smell of burnt. The sky was black west to east from Mulholland that day.

I fled to the valley.

I left in a hurry seventeen years ago.

It was cathartic to see it on a hot sunny day today. People on the sidewalks, fruit & vegetable corners. The only thing that’s changed seems to be that it’s healed. It’s bustling.

We walk up after being buzzed in and go up two flights of stairs. There’s a nice palm or fern every six steps or so on the right under the rail. I notice Fred has huge feet and he’s well dressed. His clothes are nice. I have no idea if he’s fashionable or not but he’s very well dressed. Me, I’m a sweaty pale primate.

We’re first greeted at the top of the stairs by a smaller black guy with neck tattoos and a gun. Hindsight tells me I was moving through this place way too fast. I was following Fred and neither of us seem to have a confidence problem. We arrived behind the counters and into the backrooms pretty fast.

Fred moves immediately to do the install and I start asking for Larry, that’s who Lars said to ask for. There are two empty eyed pitbulls that keep smelling my legs. Pale blue eyes that look scared more than anything else. A frightened animal is a dangerous one. I’m telling you this now and thinking I should have been more respectful.

I should have pet the dogs but everything was going well and I didn’t want to touch them.

Fucking hot up there. This place was crazy. Not my first dispensary, but easily the most ghetto. I liked it. I was comfortable there. There was an older woman walking around with a paper cup the size of a shot glass full of water. People buzzing in and out. A small grow operation in the back. A flat screen with at least six different angles of security. I stopped short of looking for myself on the monitor.

Utensils everywhere. I swear I saw a Crouch piece on the desk. Wham. I walked out with two fistfulls of the most aromatic herbinacionous addition to any entree you can picture. Fish, fowl, mammal or mollusk. A flower for any meal.

Ipso Facto, I’m back at my car with two pinecones of earthy. I drive home.

I have the back of Evil Lars.

Happy Holiday.

In other news, the truth is bubbling to the top about America’s role in torture. Regardless of your position, you were lied to on national television by your dipshit retarded President about it. America has tortured. And as The Daily Show so adroitly pointed out, all we can do is be outraged over the secret getting out.

Weak. Fuck me.

I can’t believe these retired, retarded fucking clowns on television trying to mitigate the fact that we torture. We prosecuted the Japanese for waterboarding. Were we more morally advanced back then?

Fuck me in the neck.

Drinks for my friends.

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